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There were a lot of snakes in the house and in the nearby woods. They were everywhere- in the backyard, on the porch, on the ceiling, in the trees, coiled around the old tyre swing- the snakes were everywhere.

Black, brown, green, grey, yellow, red, so many different colours, they looked like a tapestry hanging from the clothesline.

At night, they would crawl around the house, in our rooms, over our furniture, on our wooden roof...

Sometimes they fell on the floor from the roof, sometimes on the mosquito net.

They were always everywhere.

Snake charmers, witch doctors, pest control, animal welfare, the neighbours, everyone tried to help my parents get rid of them, but they kept coming back. My parents left them alone. They never hurt anyone anyway.

They were there when my mother went into labour, they were there when I was born. After my birth, they crawled over my crib and over my tiny body.

She’s startled by the elevator doors opening behind her. I step out and our eyes meet. A hint of regret and longing mars her polite smile.

She’s waiting for someone, someone who’s not me.

I smile back and turn my eyes away. She goes back to gazing at nothing in particular.

She’s beautiful.

I step down and walk towards the gate. I want to look at her again.

But it would not be polite.

She stares at something in the distance, something that is quite not there. Is it a hint of melancholy I perceive? I wonder what secrets her eyes hold.

The pale morning sunlight flickered through the window and hit her face and her eyes shimmered and trembled like early morning dew lingering on a budding spring leaf. The golden light radiated through her soft pink skin, and it seemed she was rece…

I walked up the long, winding trail that led up to the mountain shrine. Below, the waves roared and crashed against the rocks, one Titan against another.

The road was a scarlet ribbon of fallen flowers and leaves from the late autumn trees. The wind howled across the mountain, blowing the leaves in my face and parting the early morning fog. My boots crushed the dead leaves and my breath left little vapour trails behind me.

After a short walk, I reached lookout point one. Here was an old wooden bench- standing precariously at the edge overlooking the sea. From here, one could afford a splendid view of the horizon far out at sea, and if one was particularly fortunate, he could see the white whales out on their daily swim. I lingered near the edge for a moment and promptly returned to the ritual of painting the bench; I took out my paint cans and smeared fresh red paint on the old bench with my finger- a gesture akin to offering a sacrifice to the Gods. Years of such offerings had made the…

Hi there, wanderer! I doodle and write weird little stories.
If you'd like to start a conversation, please email me at himadrismahanta@gmail.com.
Thanks for visiting and see you again, wanderer. I wish you a wonderful time ahead. :)